Morning Jitters
by leahalexis
Summary: A Katniss/Peeta coffee shop AU.


**Author's Note**: Written because, when I Googled "Katniss Peeta coffee shop AU," nothing turned up. And that seemed like a travesty. (Also, impossible. I'm sure I'm just Googling badly!)

* * *

Behind the counter, Peeta could see Katniss' long dark braid as she steamed the milk for a customer's drink. He sipped his own latte as he watched her neat, economical movements, the swing of that braid as she deftly added a swirl of whipped cream before fastening on the lid.

"Peppermint white chocolate mocha for Finnick," she called out, sliding the drink onto the counter for pick-up before turning efficiently to the next.

"I don't know what you see in her, Peet," Finnick said a few moments later as he slid into the seat across from Peeta, drink in hand. Peeta shifted automatically to keep Katniss in his eye-line.

"Of course you don't," Peeta said amiably, still watching Katniss as she called the next drink order. He loved the sound of her voice as it sang out across the coffee shop. It was the first thing he'd noticed about her. "She's not blond and you can't see her cleavage."

"Ha, ha," Finnick said. "I'll have you know I am equally partial to redheads in short skirts."

Peeta inclined his head. "Touché."

"Seriously, though. Peeta. Her face is stuck in a permanent scowl. And you're the most optimistic, easygoing guy I know. At least when you aren't pining over irritable baristas."

Katniss had moved out from behind the bar and was refilling napkins. Peeta wished he could go up to her and rest his hands on her hips and whisper in her ear. He wished he could see her smile.

"Finn, haven't you ever seen someone and just . . . I don't know . . . felt like you _had_ to know them?"

"No," Finnick said. "Unless you mean carnally."

"I do not mean carnally." Or at least not _primarily_ carnally.

"In that case, definitely not."

Peeta rolled his eyes, and Finnick reached over the table and flicked him in the middle of the forehead.

"You should just _talk to her_. Ask her out."

"No."

"Why not? If she says no, there are plenty of other places we can get coffee."

And that right there was the difference between the two of them, when it came to girls. Peeta didn't want to get _coffee_ anywhere else.

"She barely makes eye contact when I order my drink," Peeta protested. "I can't just—ask her out. Not yet."

"Then when?"

"Soon."

Finnick snorted.

"I'm . . . easing into it."

"Right. Fine. And how's that going for you?"

Peeta considered the question. "She's warming up to me."

"How can you tell?"

Fair question.

"She wasn't frowning when she took my order last week," he offered.

"Hey, congrats on that, man," Finnick said. "She dislikes you slightly less than she does the rest of the world."

"Maybe I like a challenge."

Finick shook his head. "Oh, no. You, my friend, like to do things the hard way. I, on the other hand, like things easy. And speaking of easy, I see the lovely Glimmer is also working this afternoon. I shall return."

Peeta smiled into his coffee as Finnick abandoned him and his barely touched peppermint mocha to chat up the barista just coming on shift, who was blond and showing both plenty of leg and plenty of cleavage—or at least she would have been, had her employee apron not been covering the latter up.

He was still smiling, keeping an eye on Finnick as he made a fool of himself, trying to charm Glimmer, when he caught Katniss watching him. When she looked away, he thought he saw her blush.

* * *

A week later, Peeta was back at the same table, with the same drink, but alone this time. Finnick hadn't come home the night before; Peeta had woken up to a text from the middle of the night: "Met somebody. Don't wait up!" Peeta was pretty sure his roommate had a macro set up on his Blackberry for that one.

Katniss wasn't at the counter when he arrived; Glimmer was taking orders, and Johanna—who had greeted him with an overly delighted shriek of "Bread boy!" and drawn big sloppy red hearts all over his cup instead of his name—was making the drinks.

He stayed anyway. It was stupid, but he couldn't bring himself to leave if there was a chance that Katniss might still show up. He always brought his iPad, the days he knew Finnick wouldn't be joining him, so he looked a little less like a stalker; he might as well get a little actual reading in.

He was so engrossed in the latest issue of _Pastry and Baking_ that it took him a moment to notice that there was someone between him and the window, blocking the light.

He looked up, and Katniss was standing right in front of him, holding a cup. He must have missed her come in; she was already wearing her apron. Tendrils of hair had escaped from her usually tight braid, like she'd been in a rush when she tied it back, and her cheeks were flushed. She was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"It's a latte," she said. "Peeta, right?"

"Right," he said, a little awed. _She knows my name_, he thought.

"Customer changed his order at the last second. I didn't want to just throw it out, and I thought, since it's what you always drink . . ."

_She knows what I drink_.

"No, yeah," he said. "I'd love it. I mean, thank you." He reached out to take it, and their fingers touched. Hers were warm from holding the cup, her skin slightly rough.

She pulled away first, and cleared her throat. "You're welcome," she said, and then turned back towards the counter.

"Katniss!" he said, before he lost his nerve, and she froze, back still to him. "Would you, uh—I mean, if you don't have work tomorrow night, or . . . any night, really . . ." And thank God Finnick wasn't there to laugh at him. "Do you want to have dinner with me? Sometime? Um, whenever you're—free? Or . . . coffee? We could have coffee!"

She had to like coffee. She worked at a coffee shop. Or maybe that meant she'd be sick of it, and he should have suggested someplace else?

Right, shit, what kind of idiot asked a girl out on a date to do something she did everyday for work?

Her back was still to him, and for a moment he was frozen with terror, sure he'd offended her somehow, but then he realized: she was laughing. That probably wasn't better.

"I get a break," she said finally, turning her head. Her profile was visible over her shoulder; the corner of her mouth was curved slightly upwards. "I've already taken it today, but—next week? We could—have coffee."

Elation shot through him; he was sure he was still smiling wider than he was supposed to be. He'd always been terrible at playing it cool. He was better at stalking.

"Next week is good. Next week is great! I'll be here."

Her lips curved more, and her eyes were laughing as they finally met his. "I know."


End file.
